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Spring has been a season of change as I take some time to explore my other artistic roots. While it’s easy for authors to feel guilty about not having a major writing project going, sometimes change is good. So, at the end of January, I flew to Mexico to take a plein air art workshop. http://www.artworkshopvacations.com

Perched at the confluence of a river and the Pacific Ocean, the village of Boca de Tomatlan was the perfect place to recharge batteries and revive my former passion – painting. The workshop was hosted by Robert Masla and Monica Levine, an American couple who offer art workshop vacations in their colorful Casa de Los Artistas.

Harbor, Boca de Tomatlan

Painting of view from balcony

Our teacher, Jim McVicker, a noted Northern California painter, did demonstrations every day, and let us find our own places and subjects to paint. It was an inspirational stay, and I met some lovely artists from all over the US and Canada. One of the painters, Fiona Potter, who also does jewelry, later send me a pendant with the image of my book cover. Thanks, Fiona!

Pendant of book cover

In addition to painting in a number of scenic locations, eating great food and enjoying the sounds of breaking waves, some of us veered off and went zip-lining for the first time – a rather breathtaking experience.

BOOK NEWS: The Coconut Latitudes continues to have “legs” in the U.S. and abroad. I’ll be doing a book reading on April 20th, 7:00p.m. at the Annapolis Bookstore, 53 Maryland Drive, Annapolis, MD. It will be a dual delight because my Maryland cousins will also be attending – the first time we’ve been together for several years. If you have friends in that area, please let them know about it!

Internationally, The Coconut Latitudes was highlighted in January by the Caribbean Books Foundation, and a short story titled “Lost in Spain” that I submitted to “Travel Stories and Highlights” was selected for their 2018 Edition. This U.K. series is edited by Robert Fear, and features writers from all over the globe.

What’s next? I’m off to Southern Sampler Artists’ Colony 2018,

Southern Sampler Artists Colony logo

a week-long “creatives’ retreat” in South Carolina. I’m looking forward to getting together again with Bren McClain, who wrote an award-winning novel, One Good Mama Bone (which I recommend highly), and other writers, artists and creative sorts to experience art and community, Southern style. Who knows what new expressions that will draw forth from us?

May your Spring be full of renewal and bloom with lots of colorful flowers!

2017 began with a tsunami of events, some potentially cataclysmic and others more in sync with seasonal cycles. Someone forgot to turn off the faucets of ill-will that have been spewing forth in our nation, and Mother Nature forgot to shut off water spigots here at home. As rainstorms shudder against my windows and alternate facts compete with common sense, I’ve often felt like the imperiled dams and rivers in our state: over-filled, overflowed, and thoroughly wrung out.
But: Today the sun is shining. Neon-green coats the hills, and succulents gratefully absorb the wetness. I’m grateful for the reminder that everything has a season – and that Spring is just around the corner. There’s new growth on the literary front too: the recent publication of two anthologies on subjects near to my heart – memoir and travel. The Magic of Memoir: Inspiration for the Writing Journey, and Wandering in Andalusia: The Soul of Southern Spain are both fully in bloom, and readings are flowering across the country. Please join me for upcoming Bay Area events where I’ll be reading along with other contributors.

UPCOMING EVENTS:

Thursday, March 9, 7:00-8:30p at A Great Good Place for Books, 6120 La Salle Avenue, Oakland (Montclair District), CA. It will be lively group reading by writers featured in Wandering in Andalusia, the latest anthology in the prize-winning Wandering series of travel tales. Edited by Linda Watanabe McFerrin and Joanna Biggar, this enchanting collection illuminates the soul of Southern Spain, a territory ripe with contradiction and beauty.

The event is a celebration of memoir, with editors and contributors of The Magic of Memoir. Co-editors Linda Joy Myers and Brooke Warner will be joined by a handful of contributors who earned their placement in this inspiring, wise, and deep collection of essays about the journey, the process, and the craft of writing memoir. Join us!

ON THE LITERARY ARTS FRONT:

Display in Pt. Richmond Post Office February 13-April 5, 2017

The Arts of Point Richmond features “For the Love of Books – A Celebration of Local Authors” This sampling of books by writer members is on display in Point Richmond’s post office building. 104 Washington Ave. It features local authors: Abigal Bok, Diana Paul Bort, Steve Early, Michael Fitzgerald, Rita Gardner, Suzanne Gordon, Robert Lipton, Heli Perrett, Toula Siacoutos, Jacqueline Wales, and Christine Volker.

On the ART FRONT: “Cacophony” is a new juried art exhibition at Kaleidoscope Coffee, 109 Park Place, Point Richmond – March 1 through April 28, 2017. Please join us at the reception, Friday, March 10, 4:00-6:00p.

OTHER BOOK NEWS:

In other news, my memoir The Coconut Latitudes continues to expand my family circle and find new readers. Book clubs locally and across the country are still choosing it to read, and many invite me to participate in their discussions, which I enjoy immensely. A tip of the hat to last month’s book club gathering in El Sobrante – a great group of book enthusiasts and lovely hosts.

And finally – something to bring a smile: My community of Point Richmond has a fairy godfather…an artist who continues to create whimsical fairy (or leprechaun) habitations on a one-block section of Washington Avenue (between Nicholl Avenue and Terrace Avenue.) His latest creation: a library with mini-books, and even a tiny sign offering a reward for a lost ladybug pet. It’s a delight for children and anyone young at heart. If you’re in town, check it out!

Fall is upon us, that bittersweet season where the earth takes a breather, goes fallow, and directs us to look inwards. It invites us to express gratitude for all we have been given. This year I am especially thankful for an unexpected family connection and visit – a gift I’ll cherish forever. On the literary side, I participated in the Bay Area Book Festival and LitQuake, and was a finalist in the 2016 National Indie Excellence Awards for The Coconut Latitudes. I’m delighted to have contributed to two new literary collections coming out in the next few weeks. I’ve also taken the time to read some inspiring books, such as The Body Keeps the Score, by Bessel van der Kolk, M.D.

The book starts with the premise that trauma is a fact of life, one that “literally reshapes both body and brain.” As readers of my memoir know, alcoholism played a monumental role in my family, shaping lives and beliefs for decades. I am thankful for Dr. van der Kolk and all of the healers at the front lines in the battle to recover lives shattered by trauma in its many guises. While the subject is difficult, the book is uplifting and full of hope. I highly recommend it.

NEW BOOKS and UPCOMING EVENTS:

From Fear to Freedom: A Memoir’s Journey, an essay I wrote about the (sometimes traumatic) experience of writing The Coconut Latitudes, is included in The Magic of Memoir. A collection of stories by 38 writers of memoir, it was edited by Linda Joy Myers (president and founder of the National Association of Memoir Writers) and Brooke Warner, publisher of She Writes Press. A “memoirist’s companion for when the going gets tough,” it also includes interviews with high-profile writers (including Mary Karr, Elizabeth Gilbert and Mark Matousek) whose inspiring tales shine their own light on the subject. This is the perfect gift to give anyone thinking of writing a memoir. For details or to pre-order, visit the Amazon book link: http://amzn.to/2c1BlZX . Publish date: November 2016.

Upcoming Book Event for The Magic of Memoir: Friday, November 18 at 7:00p at Laurel Books. 1423 Broadway, Oakland (just steps away from 12th Street BART station). Please join me and the other contributors who will be reading excerpts.In other new book news, I’m excited to be part of Wanderland Writers’ latest anthology, Wandering in Andalusia: The Soul of Southern Spain. It launches with a celebration on Saturday, December 10, 7:00p.m. at Book Passage , 51 Tamal Vista, Corte Madera, CA. The collection includes several pieces I wrote during travel in Spain earlier this year. This new volume in the “Wandering” series is chock-a-block full of tasty reads from a variety of fine writers. The book launch will be a great way to kick off the holiday season with a distinctly Spanish flavor. I have it on good authority there may be some vino, flamenco moves, and castanets. I invite all my Bay Area friends to join the festivities – so be sure to mark your calendars now for some winter “Olé!” (And if you can’t make it that day, we’ll be doing another reading at Book Passage’s San Francisco Bookstore in the Ferry Building on Monday, December 12 at 6:00p.)

I hope this time of year brings you the promise of regrowth, joy, and healing. Heaven knows we can all use some healing after this fraught election process.

Earlier this spring, I participated in a writing workshop/adventure in Spain, hosted by Wanderland Writers. In Barcelona, I fell under the spell of Antoni Gaudi’s hallucinogenic architecture. In Seville, I accidentally became part of a religious procession where drumbeats, incantations, and incense punctured the night sky. I surrendered to the ministrations of an expert masseuse in a hammam, a centuries-old Arab bath house. I became lost on narrow cobblestone streets and followed my nose to blossom-scented plazas where the sacred and the secular danced together. By the end of my trip, I was brimming with essay ideas. I hope to share my tales with you in Wanderland Writers’ next anthology, Wandering in Andalusia, but in the meantime, here a few images from the journey.

Solstice. A perfect metaphor for our dual selves, darkness and light. Celebrated since ancient times, it’s the occasion when the sun appears to stand still just for a moment before an inevitable seasonal change begins. In the Southern Hemisphere, it is the longest day – a time to fling oneself outside, to inhabit the long flame of day and bask in its lingering afterglow. A time to make stories.

Here in the Northern Hemisphere, the Winter Solstice marks the shortest day and longest night: a time to draw in, gather ourselves and tell our stories. Storytelling is as old as humanity and almost as necessary as breathing. In many ways, we are our stories. And the tales we make (and the lives we live) are both wildly individual and communal. We draw from and nourish ourselves from others’ stories as much as our own.

I’m grateful this past year has been full of that kind of nourishment. In addition to writing my own words, I’ve savored others’ storytelling in their words, in books. From heartbreaking revelations exuding tremulous bravery to quirky accounts of misadventures, and everything in between – I’ve witnessed the pain and joys of others’ lives. Just a few books that I read in 2015: Beautiful Affliction by Lene Fogelberg, Heartprints of Africa by Cinda Adams Brooks, Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness by Alexandra Fuller, Fourteen by Leslie Johansen Nack, The Thriver’s Edge by Donna Stoneham, and – because sometimes we just need to laugh out loud: The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. Marteen Troost.

I’m thankful to all of you for sharing your personal journeys, and grateful that The Coconut Latitudes continues to touch so many people in unexpected ways. I’m also delighted to be included in a new book this year, My Gutsy Story, (2nd Ed.) an anthology edited by Sonia Marsh, featuring inspirational tales about taking chances in life. Sometimes it seems that we should stop taking any chances in light of recent world events. As we reel from news and disasters, we hold our breath and wonder what new conflicts await in 2016 to challenge our hearts. In the midst of that uncertainty, maybe the best we can do is just continue to live our lives, tell our stories and share our truths. Regardless of the good and evil in humanity, we can take solace that the earth is predictable. It tilts on its axis away from or toward the sun. Darkness and light; inexorable shifts in one direction or the other. As the solstice occurs, we take a breath and carry on as a new year is birthed. Right now trees are bare, but new buds are just biding their time to bloom. I’m looking forward to another writing adventure in March, joining Wanderland Writers in Andalucía, Spain. Led by Linda Watanabe McFerrin and Joanna Biggar, a group of us will explore new territory and find ways to put our experiences into words. Who knows what new tales will emerge?

I hope 2016 brings peace where possible, surprises and joy to all. And to my literary sisters and brothers: Write on!

It’s already summer; how did that happen? This particular June solstice brings with it a desire to reflect upon the head-spinning events of the past few months. Dictionaries define the term reflection variously. Interestingly, the root is from the Latin reflexiōn – a “bending back”, which seems fitting as I look backwards.

Another common definition includes the act of reflecting images produced by mirrors or other things like water, shiny metals or glass. In early spring I learned that The Coconut Latitudes was a finalist in the 2015 Benjamin Franklin Awards, an event sponsored by Independent Book Publishers Association. The winners would be announced at a ceremony in Austin, Texas. While I didn’t expect to win, I thought it would be a fun trip. I’d meet other authors, see my publisher and have a look at the city. So after an embarrassingly long shopping trip to find shoes that wouldn’t shout “Sensible-sandal-wearing California earth mother”, I packed my suitcase. As it turned out, I won Gold Award for memoir category, and two days later I had to unpack my bag at the airport when leaving Austin. My crystal award and its sharp obelisk shape had, not surprisingly, caught the eye of the TSA agent as it went through the scanner, reflecting potential danger. I admit I had noticed the large sign behind him that shouted: “NO pointed objects allowed on the aircraft.” Oddly, my shiny (and pointy-toed) shoes didn’t get his attention and he did let me keep my trophy after determining I seemed unlikely to wield it as a weapon mid-flight.

In May, after planning a trip to the East Coast to visit friends and family, I learned my memoir had won a second Gold Award, this time in the 2015 Next Generation Indie Awards, and the presentation would be in New York City. I decided not to go, except my friends just wouldn’t shut up. After all, as they sensibly pointed out, I’d already be in the general neighborhood (well, Boston.) And I had the shoes.

The awards ceremony was lovely, and New York City simply took my breath away. Buildings glowed orange in the dusk. Raindrops mirrored the skyscrapers and sidewalks. The night glittered with magic and in the daytime, the blue sky reflected off buildings under construction, partly revealing gritty underpinnings that would soon be obscured by a new shiny skin.

Another definition of reflection involves “ideas or thoughts that come as a result of thinking or meditating.” A couple of weeks ago I received a phone call from the Pacific Northwest Writers Association, letting me know that my book is a finalist in their awards program. The winner will be announced in July at an event in Seattle. I don’t think I’ll meditate on that too long, other to than to express my gratitude and say: Thank you, and yes, I will be there. It doesn’t matter if I win or not; what is precious to me are the connections made, new friendships, introduction to new worlds of words, and not the least – the gift of reflection in all its myriad definitions.

In this new year, as The Coconut Latitudes branches out into the world, it continues to bring some unexpected gifts and connections. The latest arrived yesterday, when, out-of-the-blue, a message arrived from a pen pal who I corresponded with more than fifty years ago.

The first gift was the arrival of photographs I’d never before seen. They were taken in the 1950s in Miches by a German family who visited my childhood home. The photos let me suddenly see my family from another lens. Heinz Neumann, in his early 20s then, but now in his early 80s, discovered the photo that is the cover of my book (bless the internet!). He contacted me to see if I was indeed the child he knew so long ago and far away. One of the pictures he sent shows Heinz as a handsome young man seated between my parents in a rustic thatched-roof bar in Miches. And there I am, a six-year old, uncomfortably perched on a chair across the table, dwarfed by the drinking and partying adults.

Though I recalled seeing this picture as a child, I’d never known who the strangers were – and now I get to know their story and how it intertwined with mine. Heinz has sent me many images and each is a new discovery—until now, I had only a few pictures of that era. It is a peculiar feeling to see myself as the child I wrote about in the memoir. As I viewed them, I felt protective and tender towards my very young self; I wanted to reach out through the years and reassure her that her life would, someday, get better.

The second present was even more surprising. Through Facebook, I connected with Joan, the daughter of Carlyle Sees, my father’s former partner in the coconut business. As readers of my book may recall, early in our new island life this partnership dissolved painfully. My sister and I were forbidden to speak to the Sees children, a boy and girl my own age. My father even planted a high hedge between our properties. We never spoke to them again in our years on the island. Fast forward to 2015. Not only am I now “speaking to” my former friend electronically, she’s sent me her father’s autobiography, which included his side of the coconut farm saga. Again, like Heinz’s photos, a new/old world opened up to me—I had another perspective on our unusual life story.

The third gift was a recent reconnection with a key person in my life—my college friend Ellen. Her family rescued me from a disastrous living situation in Florida. Living with Ellen and her two brothers, Bill and Jim, I experienced my first Christmas away from home, in the embrace of her family. This was my first experience being around loving, open-hearted adults and teenagers who actually felt free to speak their own minds without repercussions. It was truly a life-changing experience for me, and almost fifty years later, we have much to catch up on. I get to say thank you to Ellen for the gift she and her family were to me.

However painful, emotional, or exciting these connections have been—they are part of this new year of life after publishing my memoir. As The Coconut Latitudes continues its journey in the world, I have no idea what other gifts it will bear—but am thankful for these offerings, and am already a changed person for it.

As leaves fall and pad California hiking trails with soft blankets of ocher and crimson, we whisper prayers for rain, but know bare branches are also necessary for rebirth and growth.

Walking on one of these mountain trails last week, I recalled words by Mark Matousek in a recent memoir writing workshop: “Growth demands a temporary surrender of security.” In the last six months leading up to and after the publication of The Coconut Latitudes, I’ve been forced to live outside of my comfort zone, to let myself become visible, and to share stories long held secret. In short, I had to surrender, and become vulnerable.

I’ve had to release the idea of appearing “perfect” when speaking in public or reading aloud to strangers and friends alike. Of course the ego still thinks it’s in charge. But what happened in surrendering, in becoming vulnerable? Nothing bad, and much that was surprising, such as the book launch party at Book Passage. It was a mind-bending experience with over 120 people packing the bookstore and buying a record number of copies. Overwhelmed by the love in the room, I forgot to be nervous when I got up to the podium. I recalled something else Mark noted: “When people read your story, they’re not reading about you, they’re reading about themselves.”

So far, my encounters with readers near and far have validated Mark’s assertion. Readers have introduced me to their struggles and their victories. I’ve reconnected with people lost since childhood, and have met individuals who poured out their own amazing and stunning tales. Most heartening, I’ve heard from my sister’s friends—who’d been kept in the dark about her past. It turns out my story fills out the missing pieces in their friendship with her, and keeps her closer to their hearts than before.

Everyone’s stories shape their past and color their present. Whether still hidden away in the fallow ground of winter, or getting ready to burst into the light, all stories matter. Often we manage to find a completely different truth when we dig deep enough below the tales we’ve told ourselves to survive. But it requires letting go. As we surrender to winter’s arrival, beneath those bare branches and fallen leaves, our roots continue to grow and gather strength. My wish for those who yearn to tell their truth—surrender to the quest.

A dear friend posted a note to my Facebook wall the other day. She’d been thinking about writing, one of the things that brings her true joy. But, she said, she was “absolutely fearful” of anyone reading or commenting on her writing. She wrote: “I think of you because you are so courageous as to allow anyone in this world – people you don’t even know – to read your words (private thoughts) that you have painstakingly put to paper.”

I just want to say—to her—and to anyone who has fears about putting their inner thoughts on paper, that sometimes it’s not really a courageous act at all; it’s a necessary act. And we all find some time in life when we MUST do something—and we do it. What that thing is could be anything at all. It might be when we find ourselves all of a sudden caregiving for an aged or mentally disabled family member. It isn’t something that fits with our “life plan” and yet we do it. People call us courageous, but we don’t see it that way; it’s just something we have to do.

Often, however, I think inspiration comes from a fire that burns within—and a moment arrives when it’s no longer possible to tamp down the flame, or try to keep it buried. I want to say to my friend that we all are in the same boat, no one of us more courageous than the other. Our fears can be like relentless ocean waves, trying to swamp our vessel, and—unfortunately—sometimes succeeding. But deep inside, hope flickers too, and it can be a lifesaver. I’m reminded of a poem by David Whyte called “Out on the Ocean.” He writes of being alone in a kayak, five miles from shore, waves raging around him as he pulls desperately for home.

When I first read that poem, I could almost smell his words and feel an ashy heaviness in my own bones. It’s a reminder that there comes a time—or many times—when we struggle, filled with that same dense smoke that threatens to choke us. But if we can see it is also energy, still alive (even if just barely smoldering) then maybe—just maybe–it’s time to let the spark ignite, burn through the fear, and bring us safely to shore.